Too Late for Love
by District4-divergent-nephilim
Summary: Part three of three in my Clove/Cato story, this time in Cato's POV. I would suggest reading the other two first. Cato's thoughts on Clove before and during the games, right up until her death.


id:9552735

**This is kind of a sequel to my story A Broken Wrist, A Mended Friendship, and that's a sequel to my other story, Natural Behavior,vso you might want to read those before this. Enjoy, and remember, I don't own the hunger games.**

"Clove Araino!" I my mouth drops. Please, anybody, volunteer. She can't go into the arena. She's only fourteen years old.

But nobody does. Everyone at the academy knows her prowess with knives. I knew her skill would come back to haunt her.

She gets to the stage. When she smirks at the crowd, she looks like the deadly tribute I know she is. That should make the underestimation level go down greatly. Everyone who underestimates her changes their opinion once they see her with some knives coming towards them. Sometimes, she's the last thing they ever see.

Just like Aemilius did. And look where he is now.

I'm only seventeen, not the right age to volunteer yet, but I have to protect Clove. I have to let her win. Any other tribute from District 2's Training Center would cut her down without a second thought. So when the escort calls for boy volunteers, I elbow my way through the other seventeen years olds. "I volunteer as tribute!"

As I look up at the stage, I see the hurt and anguish flash across Clove's face clearly. Then it turns to anger. I hope the cameras don't catch that.

I shake her hand, and perhaps we both hold on too long. Her hand is like ice. As soon as the cameras switch off and we are escorted into the Justice Building, Clove bursts into tears. She runs into her goodbye room and slams the door.

"Clover, wait!"

The door opens. "Don't call me that, Cato! You know I hate that nickname! I hate it! I hate you!" she screeches. The door slams closed again. I can hear the sobs from within.

Many people come to say goodbye to me, but I am distracted. I volunteered to protect her. Why can't she see that?

We get on the train, and she goes straight to her room. She sees me following her and tries to slam the door in my face. I stick my foot in the door. She slams it on my foot a couple times for good measure. "I hope that hurt," she growls. I roll my eyes. "Yes, SOOOOO much pain," I say, nodding my head as I try to hold back a grin. She rolls her eyes.

"What's wrong, Clover?" I ask after I push the door open.

"Why did you volunteer? You're only seventeen, your games were supposed to be next year," Clove says, her bottom lip trembling.

"Careers don't cry, Clover, so neither do you. And I have to protect you. You're going to be the youngest victor ever," I say, like it isn't obvious.

She mutters something I can't make out. "What?" I ask her.

"Finnick Odair. Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, at fourteen years, three months old. I'd be the second youngest victor. Except I probably won't win. You will."

"Clover, how long have I known you?"

"Two years, ten months, twenty-three days." She has a knack for remembering dates and numbers.

"Right. That's long enough for me. I would die to protect you."

"Really? You know I can fend for myself."

"It never hurts to have backup, Clover."

"Please stop calling me that."

I had come up with that nickname the day I met her. "I'll call you that until I die."

"Which might not be long unless you stop calling me that."

"Fine."

~Interview Night~

"Wow, Clove. Orange looks good on you." "Thanks. You don't look to shabby yourself." I smile.

I wait patiently for my interview. Clove stands in front of me, her foot tapping impatiently. I roll my eyes. Maybe that's why she chose knives as her weapons, because they kill quickly.

Finally it's my turn. When Caesar asks me if there's any special ladies in my life, I nod. "Is she waiting back home?" I send a crafty smile to the audience. "Maybe."

Later,while we walk to our rooms, Clove corners me in the hallway. "I didn't know you had a lady friend back home. What does she look like?" She sounds hurt and angry at the same time, but there is curiousity woven in to her voice.

I put a dreamy expression on my face. "Well, she's short but strong. She has long, silky black hair and brilliant emerald-green eyes. Very, very bautiful. Also, she's supersmart and she's not afraid of assert herself. But she's also very headstrong and impatient."

"She sounds hideous," says Clove, wrinkling her nose. She still doesn't get it.

"It's you, brainless!"

"Oh." She pushes me lightly. "For a minute there, I was worried."

I roll my eyes. "Go to bed, Clove. We have a big day tomorrow. The beginning of the end of our short but bright lives," I say dramatically.

"Whateves, Cato. Goodnight."

~Two and a half weeks later~

"Cato! Cato!" Clove screams.

"Clove!" I have broken my promise. I can tell she's in trouble, and I won't be able to save her.

By the time I get there, everyone is gone. Where is she?

And then I see her. Her crumpled form on the side of the cornucopia. I rush over and kneel down beside her.

I take her head in my arms. Her once perfectly shaped head (in my opinion, anyway) is now cleaved in slightly. What an ironic way to die, with her name being Clove. Only one person left in this arena is strong enough to do that. Her words confirm my fear. Thresh.

"I'll kill him." She smiles slightly and squeezes my right hand tightly. "I love you, Clove." "I love you too, Cato. But it's too late for love." Her eyes droops slightly. "Clover, don't leave me!" I yell.

Her eyes open. "Can I tell you something?" "Anything, Clover." "I love it when you call me Clover. It makes me feel special, it makes me feel lucky. I only told you I don't like it so you'll call me that more."

I smile as tears start to form in my eyes. "Careers don't cry, Cato, so neither do you," she says, mirroring my words on the train. "See you soon." She breathes in deeply and closes her eyes. Her grip on my hand relaxes.

A cannon sounds. Clove's cannon. The only thing in the world that I never wanted to hear.

I don't waste time. I plant a kiss on her forehead. I grab the sword that I had dropped and the knife that she picked up at the cornucopia, the one she said was her favorite.

I run into the grassland to track down Thresh. It may be too late to save my love, but it isn't too late to destroy the one who took her away from me.


End file.
